


Your Wish Is Granted

by ignipes



Category: No Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-06
Updated: 2008-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Spencer," Brendon said slowly, looking at each of them in turn, "what exactly did you wish for?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Wish Is Granted

~

  


In the end, they decided to blame Jon, because it was his idea to go to the carnival in the first place.

~

The carnival was, in Brendon's opinion, fantastic. There was cotton candy and colorful lights, and everything smelled like dust and small towns. Brendon ate funnel cake and walked around aimlessly while Ryan rode the Ferris wheel for the seventeenth time and Jon challenged Spencer to yet another rematch of Shoot The Tiny Ducks And Win A Teddy Bear (Brendon knew Spencer would win, because Spencer _always_ won games that involved shooting ducks, but Jon would not give in without a fight). Only one girl stopped him to say, "Hey, you look familiar, do I know you?" When Brendon told her he was Hubert Hirogato of the Infamous Hirogato Trapeze Family, she looked vaguely confused but left him to enjoy his funnel cake in peace.

That's when he found the fortune-telling machine from _Big_.

"Holy shit," he said, even though nobody was listening except his funnel cake. "Zoltar Speaks!"

It was the exact same machine, right down to the creepy _yaw-yaw-yaw_ noise it made. Brendon stared for a long minute before fumbling in his pockets for change. He didn't have any quarters, though, so he spun around and raced through the carnival as fast as he could. Ryan was still on the Ferris wheel, Jon was sulking because he was terrible duck shooter, so it was Spencer who Brendon dragged back to Zoltar.

"Look," Brendon whispered.

"Holy shit," Spencer answered, his eyes wide with awe. "It's Zoltar."

"Do you have a quarter?"

Spencer dug into his pockets. "Yeah, yeah, totally." Then: "Dude, why are we whispering?"

Brendon rolled his eyes. "Dude, _Zoltar_. Gimme your quarter."

"No, it's my quarter. Move over."

Brendon thought about arguing, but most of the time arguing with Spencer was kind of like arguing with a brick wall--like, maybe, a really bitchy brick wall that birds were scared of because it sat around inventing clever insults in its spare time--so he stepped aside. He didn't really care who made the wish; he just wanted to see what would happen.

Spencer put the quarter into the slot and played with the lever until the ramp aimed right at Zoltar's mouth. Zoltar's eyes glowed red, and his creepy painted head began to bob slowly, making that _yaw-yaw-yaw_ noise Brendon totally did not used to have nightmares about when he was a kid. When the lighted sign reading "ZOLTAR SAYS: MAKE YOUR WISH" came on, Spencer stepped back, put his hands on his hips, and tapped his foot thoughtfully.

"What are you wishing for?" Brendon asked, still whispering.

Spencer slanted an unreadable glance his way, and Zoltar's sign changed: "PRESS BUTTON TO RELEASE COIN." Spencer hit the button without delay; the coin rolled straight into Zoltar's mouth.

"Nice shot," Brendon said. "No wonder you're so good at killing ducks. What did you wish for?"

Zoltar chomped his jaw for a bit, stopped and stared at them with red eyes. Brendon looked down just in time to see the little white card pop out of the machine. He grabbed for it, but Spencer was faster and danced away laughing. "If I tell you," he said, shoving Brendon back with his free hand, "it won't come true."

"Not when Zoltar's involved," Brendon said confidently. "C'mon, c'mon, what does it say?"

Spencer held the card toward the light of the carnival to read it, and his smile vanished so quickly Brendon stopped reaching and stepped back. "Um, Spence?" He laughed nervously. "Is your wish, like, not granted?"

"No, it's just..." Spencer's voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "Whatever, it's just weird." He handed the card to Brendon and grinned. "Maybe this Zoltar is a hungry cannibal."

In tiny, fancy script, the card said: THERE WILL BE ENOUGH OF YOU TO GO AROUND.

Brendon made a face--because, ew, cannibals--and said, "Your fortune sucks." He tried to hand the card back to Spencer, but Spencer just shook his head. "You should have let me do it. I bet Zoltar would like me."

Behind him, Zoltar suddenly made the _yaw-yaw-yaw_ noise again. Brendon jumped and glared at Zoltar over his shoulder. Zoltar's red eyes glared back, and Brendon edged away while Spencer laughed at him. "C'mon," he said, his hand warm on Brendon's shoulder, "let's go. There's a purple giraffe on the merry-go-'round, and I'm going to make Ryan ride it if it's the last thing I do."

Brendon suspected that forcing Ryan into intimate contact with unnaturally-colored bobbing plastic animals on a ring of merry delight might, in fact, be the last thing Spencer would ever do, but the fight leading up to it was something he wouldn't miss for the world. He followed Spencer back to help him ambush Ryan when he got off the Ferris wheel, and he forgot all about Zoltar's spooky red eyes.

~

When Brendon woke up, Spencer was kissing his stomach.

He thought, _Hmmmm, nice_ , and arched his back a little, wondering if Spencer would laugh at him if he tried to purr like a cat.

Then he thought, _Bwuh?_ and _Oh my god_ and "Gah! What are you _doing_?"

The look Spencer gave him, glaring with narrowed eyes and pouting with damp-- _swollen, holy shit_ \--lips made Brendon wonder if maybe he'd said that last part out loud, a suspicion that was confirmed when Spencer rolled his eyes and said, "What the hell does it look like I'm doing?"

"Like you're, um." _Kissing me_ , Brendon carefully did not say, _in my bunk,_ because he could definitely be wrong, and that was the kind of wrong that would be humiliating beyond all possible recovery. "I don't know?"

Spencer smiled slyly. "Guess," he said, and leaned down to kiss Brendon again, only this time it was a little lower, low enough to nudge down the waistband of Brendon's boxers.

"Spencer. Spencer, wait, seriously, what are you--" The words sounded a bit squeakier than Brendon intended, but the _hmmmm, nice_ part of his brain was slowly giving away to the _hey, Bren, remember that Spencer only does this in your super top secret fantasies, not in real life_ part of his brain. Brendon scrambled away, accidentally kneeing Spencer in the chin as he did so, and fell out of his bunk.

"Dude, what the hell?" Spencer propped himself up on one elbow and scowled, looking seriously annoyed and rumpled and _stop looking stop looking stop looking_ \--

"It's just, um. You know!" Brendon jumped to his feet and spun around, ran into the bathroom and locked himself in. He turned to face the door and banged his forehead three times. "What. The. Fuck." Pause. Breathe. Repeat: "What. The. _Fuck._ "

The problem was, while the _hmmmm, nice_ part of his brain was still dancing a little jig to the tune of "Spencer! In your bunk! Kissing!" the rest of his brain was standing sternly to one side and muttering ominous reminders about why Brendon didn't kiss his bandmates. Like, ever. At all. Well. Okay, except for Ryan, when they were on stage and/or stuck in boring interviews and/or Ryan was wearing his hat with the feather on it, because, dude, _hat with a feather on it_ and Brendon was only human. And maybe sometimes Jon, when he was high and/or cuddling tiny kittens, because that shit was fucking irresistible. And Spencer, when he was pissy and/or about to kill somebody, because clearly _somebody_ had too, for the sake of the world, and Ryan and Jon were both cowards in certain Spencer-related situations...

Well. Okay.

Possibly Brendon did kiss his bandmates a lot, but not _like that_ , however much he wanted to--and oh, god, he really wanted to--and his mind was giving him a lot of very ominous reminders about why he didn't kiss his bandmates _like that_ , reminders that started out sounding like the solemn promise Brendon had made to himself not to fuck up the greatest thing that had ever happened in his life and ended by sounding an awful lot like Pete cackling over speakerphone and telling them not to let the big gay orgies get in the way of the music.

Brendon didn't remember when his conscience had started to sound like Pete Wentz over speakerphone, but he did know it was a sign there was something very wrong with him.

He stopped banging his head on the bathroom door and took a deep breath.

"Right," he said to his own reflection. "No big deal." Another deep breath, plus some calming thoughts about thoroughly asexual and unattractive nuns. "You were probably imagining it anyway."

It was, he had to admit, the most likely explanation. He'd imagined quite a lot of scenarios involving Spencer + bed + kissing, and he'd long ago given up on any of them coming true.

So when he felt a little bit calmer, maybe a little disappointed, but definitely _very_ mature and responsible, he went out into the lounge and found Ryan and Spencer making out on the sofa.

Brendon gasped.

And gaped.

He finally managed a loud "WHAT," which even to his own ears sounded more like a parrot being stepped on than a genuine protest.

Ryan and Spencer broke apart so fast Ryan fell off the sofa and slid to the floor in a graceless heap of flailing legs and long-ass fingers grasping at air, biting out a very disgruntled, "Ouch, _fuck_ , haven't you ever heard of privacy?"

" _Privacy_?" Brendon repeated incredulously. "On a _bus_? But you--that's what--weren't you just-- _my_ bunk--"

Ryan managed to sit up; his hair was doing that weird spiky thing that made him look like an anorexic hedgehog. "Wasn't I just what?"

"Not you," Brendon said. "Him." He pointed at Spencer, who was--

Well, to be honest, Spencer was looking a little smug. And very well-kissed. And mussed up and relaxed and _stop looking stop looking stop looking_ \--

"You were just in my bunk," Brendon said, trying to sound a lot more confident than he felt. He looked around a little wildly but could not make himself move. "Just now. You were--"

"What?" The smug look instantly gave way confusion, and Spencer frowned. "No, I wasn't. I was right here."

"We've been out here for hours," Ryan added. As soon as the words were out he blushed furiously and looked down at the floor. "Seriously, Brendon," he muttered, "what the hell is your problem?"

Brendon considered and discarded a dozen replies, including _I am very confused_ and _hours, really?_ and _damn it, I totally owe Jon ten bucks now_ , but he finally settled on, "I think I'm dreaming."

"Uh-huh." Ryan always went straight from embarrassed to angry, and since he'd started out pretty angry (and _horny_ , oh god, _stop looking stop looking stop looking_ ) he was now heading right into inexplicably furious. "Why do you think that, Brendon?"

"Because..." _Because_ , Brendon thought, _this is one of my super top secret fantasies too, right down to the part where I interrupt you on the sofa._ "Because," he sighed, "my subconscious sucks."

Before Ryan could demand an explanation, however, the door of the bus opened and Jon came up the steps.

With Spencer.

Holding his hand.

For a long time, nobody said anything.

It was, Brendon thought philosophically, the kind of silence that in horror movies usually meant a giant centipede was about to bust through the ceiling and eat somebody's head.

"What," Jon began weakly. He dropped Spencer's hand like it was a hot coal.

"Hey guys," said a voice behind Brendon. He glanced over his shoulder, stopped, did a double take and turned around completely. Spencer was standing right behind him, rubbing a hand sleepily through his hair and yawning. He stopped close enough to rest his chin on Brendon's shoulder, nuzzled a little bit at Brendon's neck, and asked, "What's going on?"

Ryan screamed.

That's when Brendon knew he wasn't dreaming. His subconscious came up with a lot of crazy shit, but Ryan Ross screaming like a little girl was something he never could have imagined on his own.

~

"What do you think they're doing?" Jon was whispering. He hadn't spoken in his normal voice since he'd gotten back, and he kept sipping nervously at his coffee cup even though Brendon was pretty sure it had been empty for about twenty minutes. He and Brendon were currently huddled close together on the sofa, waiting. Brendon didn't really know what they were waiting for, but they were definitely waiting.

"Fighting over clothes?" Brendon guessed. Spencer didn't get worked up about clothes all that often, but when he did it was pretty scary. Brendon craned his head a bit to listen for any tell-tale sounds from the bunks, such as cries for help or strangled pleas or suspicious thumps, but he didn't hear anything. "They're not even talking," he said, also whispering. "Shouldn't they be talking?"

"What would they have to talk about?" Jon asked. "They're the--I mean, aren't they all--" He waved his hands helplessly. "The same person?"

"Comparing notes," Brendon said, and immediately wished he hadn't.

Jon wrinkled his brow. "Notes about what?"

"Um." Brendon shifted in his seat. "About..." _Kissing_ , he did not say, because Jon didn't know that Ryan and Spencer had been kissing before he came back, and neither Ryan nor Jon really knew about the whole Spencer-kissing-in-Brendon's-bunk incident, and Brendon didn't really know but strongly suspected there had been kissing while Jon and Spencer were out getting coffee, and Brendon's head was really, really starting to hurt, and it was all Spencer's fault because Spencer was, apparently, a massive kissing slut who could, apparently, clone himself at will and, _apparently_ , fuck with everybody's head at the same time, and therefore deserved to die. "I don't know."

"Hm," Jon said, clearly unconvinced. "What do you think will happen if they all want to wear the same pair of shoes?"

Brendon couldn't help it; a surprised laugh slipped out, high-pitched and uncontrolled. A second later Jon was laughing along with him, both of them gasping and giggling and falling against each other until Ryan loomed over them, hands on his hips, and said, " _Guys_."

They looked up guiltily.

"In case you've _forgotten_ ," Ryan went on, "we have a _little problem_." Like it was even possible to forget their _little problem_ when Ryan was so upset he was wearing hobo gloves with lacy wrists.

"Hey," Brendon said, "we'll figure it out." He spoke very gently, because when Ryan put on his lacy hobo gloves and started inflecting he was usually just a few steps away from throwing things or hiding in his bunk to write songs about clowns. "I mean, it's not the end of the world, right?" Brendon said. Jon nodded encouragingly. "It's not like we, you know, _lost_ Spencer. We just have... more of him."

It was the wrong thing to say. "That is not normal," Ryan said firmly, then he raised his voice. "This is _not normal_. Spencer!"

"Dude, what?"

And it was so fucking weird, because Spencer _sounded_ perfectly normal, just as annoyed as he always did when somebody bugged him first thing in the morning, and when he came into the lounge he _looked_ perfectly normal, wearing his favorite pink t-shirt with the sparkly teddy bears on it and wrinkling his nose in that annoyed way that was so familiar and cute--not that Brendon ever told him it was cute, because Spencer had sharp teeth--and for a second, just a second, Brendon thought, _Maybe we're only imagining--_

But another Spencer appeared behind the first, and _he_ was wearing a black t-shirt and holding a pair of shoes in one hand. "What's the big deal?" the second Spencer asked. "You guys are all overreacting."

"Of course we're _overreacting_!" Ryan shouted. "There are three of you!"

"Whatever," the third Spencer said, stepping up to join the others and, wow, suddenly the bus felt very, very crowded, like two extra bodies could fill all the space the four of them tried to leave for each other. "This will just make things, you know." He ducked his head and his hair fell over his face, and Brendon thought, _Huh_. It had taken him a long time, a lot of watching, but he had eventually figured out that when Spencer did that it generally meant he was trying very hard to avoid saying something he really did not want to say.

"Simpler," the first Spencer said.

"Simpler," Jon repeated. "Um, how, exactly?"

"Not exactly simpler," the second Spencer said. "Just, you know, easier."

"Easier for who?" the third Spencer asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked straight at Brendon. "Maybe if you think getting kicked out of bed is _easier_ , but--"

Brendon began, somewhat indignantly, "I did _not_ kick you--" at the same moment Jon said, "Wait, who was in bed?" and Ryan made a noise like a cat being strangled.

All three Spencers rolled their eyes and cocked their hips.

"Oh, whatever," one of them said.

"Really, chill," another added.

"It'll be fine," the third said quietly, and that was familiar too, so familiar that Brendon knew exactly what was coming when that Spencer smiled crookedly and reached one hesitant hand toward Ryan. "Trust me, Ry, it'll be fine."

Ryan stepped back. "But which one--which one of you is real?"

"It's not like--"

But Ryan flinched away from Spencer's touch, and _that_ wasn't familiar, that was all wrong. And the way Jon tucked his hands into his pockets and deliberately looked away was also wrong, and the way two of the Spencers looked sad while the third stared blankly at the hand Ryan had flinched away from...

Brendon realized several things in quick succession:

1) Ryan was _freaking out_. Even for Ryan, he was totally freaking the fuck out. While that was not, perhaps, surprising, because Ryan sometimes lost his shit when he couldn't find his eyeliner or get his hat to tilt in the appropriately rakish manner, this was different and Brendon really hoped there would not be fainting in the near future.

2) Jon was also freaking out. He kind of looked like he wanted to throw up, and that was just weird. Jon never panicked about anything; Brendon had seen Jon remain perfectly calm after stepping on a rusty nail with his bare foot. He almost wished he had a video camera, now, just in case Jon tried to pretend nonchalance in the near future, as he had a tendency to do when things got weird.

3) All three Spencers were also freaking out. Brendon wasn't buying the Zen-in-triplicate routine--for all his bitchy calm and challenging stillness, Spencer was only truly Zen when he was drumming--and this, this was interesting.

Corollary to items 1 through 3: That meant Brendon was the calmest person in the room. It was a novel enough experience for him that he wanted to savor it for a moment.

And:

4) They really were the gayest band in the entire world. He'd never even believed it himself before but, wow, _seriously_ , rainbows should be jealous.

(Corollary to item 4: When Pete found out, as he inevitably would, he would gloat about his magical powers of precognition, demand to be invited him to their big gay orgies, and write a song called "Zoltar Says You Won't Remember Me After the Boardwalk.")

Oh, and last but not least: 5) Apparently _Big_ was a documentary. Brendon wondered if Tom Hanks knew.

"Spencer," Brendon said slowly, looking at each of them in turn, "what exactly did you wish for?"

One Spencer shuffled his feet guiltily and looked down. "Um."

Another one snapped, "Nothing."

And the third just kept staring at Ryan in a way that reminded Brendon a little bit of a lonely orangutan at the zoo. It was pretty pathetic, but also adorable enough to give Brendon some hope. When he fixed this, his bandmates would have no choice but to declare him King of the Universe for a day and provide him with all kinds of sexual favors as a reward.

"Spencer," Brendon said, trying to sound stern. "What did you wish for?"

"What are you talking about?" Jon asked. "What wish?"

"Brendon," Ryan said, "what did you do?"

That was totally unfair, but also not entirely unexpected, so Brendon let it pass. "I didn't do anything. It was Spencer, he made a wish."

"There was no wish," a Spencer said. "It's nothing."

"Nothing?" another Spencer repeated. "It's not _nothing_."

"Well, it should be," the third finally spoke up. "This was a terrible idea."

"It was _your_ idea."

"How could it be my idea and not your idea?"

"The same way wearing those shoes with that shirt could be your idea."

"What the hell is wrong with these shoes?"

"Why the hell are you arguing about shoes anyway?"

Brendon tried to interrupt. "Hey, guys? Guys, do you really think--"

But the Spencers ignored him. "What should we argue about instead, huh?"

"How about sneaking off to make out with Jon behind Starbucks?"

Ryan turned an interesting shade of purple. " _What._ "

"Um," Jon said, blushing. "Well."

"There was no _sneaking_."

"That was totally sneaking, you fucking liar, don't even try to--"

"Well, at least I wasn't getting kicked out of Brendon's bed."

"I didn't kick anybody out of bed!" Brendon said, because this was getting a little out of hand, and he knew they had to clear some things up before the Spencers started throwing punches and pulling hair. "I _accidentally_ kicked Spencer--er, one of you--in the face, and _fell_ out of bed. That is totally not the same thing. What with me being the one who fell out of bed and all."

"Yeah, whatever, like we can believe you!"

"There was no _sneaking_!"

"It was your idea in the first place!"

"I don't even _like_ stupid pink teddy bear shirts!"

"Dude." Jon leaned closer to Brendon and whispered, "Do you think Spencer has this much internal conflict with himself all the time?"

"Yes," Ryan sighed. His face was back to its normal color, and now he looked less like he wanted to kill somebody and more like he wanted to cry.

"Dude," Jon said again, his eyes wide with concern. "That can't be healthy. Maybe we should, um. Can we fix it?"

"How?" Ryan asked.

"I, uh. I don't know?"

"Maybe we should, um. I don't know either?"

"Do you think he, um. Wants, you know?"

"I don't know?"

Spencer was still arguing with himself--but not, thankfully, resorting to violence just yet--and Jon and Ryan were trying to carry on a stammering, awkward conversation without looking at each other _at all_ , and Brendon was convinced that his three best friends in the entire world were complete idiots.

Lovable, brilliant, incredible idiots, but idiots all the same.

It was pretty awesome.

"You," Brendon said, standing up as tall as he could. It was hard to loom meaningfully over Spencer when there were three of him and they were all taller than Brendon, but he did his best. "And you, and you. Shut up, okay?"

"You can't make us."

" _You_ shut up."

"Oh, god, whatever."

"No, really," Brendon said. "Just _shut up_ for a minute!"

It was possible that he shouted that last part, but it worked; all three Spencer's fell into a stunned silence. For the second time that morning, Brendon wished he had a video camera to record what he was certain would go down in history as A Moment That Will Never Be Repeated.

"You're kind of an idiot," Brendon said to Spencer. "I mean, you didn't even have to make that stupid wish. You could have just said something."

"I don't--"

"Shut up."

"You don't even know what you're--"

"Yes, I do."

"But it isn't--"

"Spencer." Brendon waited patiently while the Spencers rolled their eyes and kicked their toes against the floor and tossed their hair; it was kind of dizzying to watch, but at least they were still shutting up. "It's okay, really. It's just like in the movie. We just have to go back and fix it."

"What movie?" Ryan demanded, at the same time two of the three Spencers said, "What if we don't want to fix it?"

Brendon said, " _Big_ , of course." Then he blinked. "What? Why don't you want to fix it?"

"It'll ruin everything."

"It's already ruined everything."

"But it might be the only..." Spencer trailed off.

"Hey," Brendon said. "It's okay, Spence. Really. I mean, it's not okay, not right now, because we don't--"

"Of course you don't."

"You don't even know what you're talking about."

"How do you know this was even _for_ you?"

And, one by one, the Spencers flounced out of the lounge.

Brendon blinked again. It wasn't like he hadn't seen Spencer's hurt-but-trying-to-hide-it flounce before, but seeing it three times in quick succession was downright surreal.

"So," Jon said conversationally, " _Big_?"

Brendon threw his hands into the air--literally, flailing arms and everything, because he didn't get to do that un-ironically very often--and said, "So, okay. Last night at the carnival I found the Zoltar Speaks! machine from _Big_ \--you know the one that made that kid turn into Tom Hanks and do the piano jumping routine at FAO Schwartz--and I didn't have any quarters so I went to find Spencer, but he said it was his quarter so he got to use it, and I guess he made a wish or something--no, he _definitely_ made a wish, but he wouldn't tell me what was, and I realize now that's because it was totally about, you know, making out with Ryan and kissing Jon and, um, crawling into my bunk, which I totally did _not_ kick him out of, and--Oh my god, Ryan Ross, you asshole, stop hyperventilating, it's not like you haven't had the exact same thoughts and couldn't even decide to be more jealous of Spencer or Jon or _me_ , you're the most obvious jealous person in the entire world--you too, Jon, you're not as obvious but just as dumb and _whatever_ , the dumbest part about this entire thing is that Pete is completely right and we can't ever let him know or he'll write songs about us, or fanfiction, because we really are the gayest band in the entire world but we're _not_ inviting him to our orgies, and it's _fine_ because nobody has to be jealous and it _doesn't have to be a disaster._ "

Brendon stopped; he was a little lightheaded. He had a feeling that when people told him to work on his breath control, this wasn't the reason they had in mind.

Jon said, "Zoltar?"

Brendon scrambled around to find the jeans he'd been wearing the night before. He dug the white card out of his pocket and handed it to Jon, who held it out so Ryan could see.

"Whoa," Jon said. "Zoltar."

Ryan bit his lip. "Really?"

Brendon threw his hands into the air again, for good measure. "Yes," he said, " _really_." And he shouted, "Spencer! Get your asses back here so we can all stop being stupid!"

There was no answer from the front of the bus.

"Spencer?" Ryan called, a little hesitantly, playing with the lacy cuffs of his hobo gloves. "You really should come back here. Either Brendon has lost his mind--"

"--or maybe he has a point," Jon said. "You might have a point, Brendon."

No answer.

"Oh."

The silence was mildly worrisome.

"He wouldn't--"

Ryan sighed. "He totally would. They would. The asshole."

A few things clicked into place in Brendon's mind, and he thought, _Huh, so that's what a sinking sensation feels like._

It didn't take long to search; there were no Spencers anywhere on the bus, and Ryan was starting to freak out again.

He whirled on Brendon. "You _told_ him--"

"I did not!" Brendon retorted, but he was thinking, _shit, yeah, maybe I did_. He hadn't, definitely _had not_ meant to say _we don't want you_ , but he should have known what Spencer would hear, because not-letting-you-finish was Spencer's number one argument-winning tactic, he had it down to a fucking art form.

And, well, Brendon was in a band full of idiots, so it was only fitting that he was one too. " _Shit_."

Ryan paced back and forth along the three steps it took him to cross the lounge. "And now he's--"

"Yeah," Jon sighed.

They all knew that Spencer did stupid things when he thought they didn't want him around. The kind of things that involved groupies and drunken text messaging and other things that guys did just for the hell of it, things that sometimes gave Ryan YouTube nightmares. It didn't happen often, thank god, and usually Spencer was pretty good at not getting caught, or if he did get caught, blaming all the trouble on somebody else. It was the main reason everybody believed he was the responsible one. (It was also, Brendon thought, monumentally unfair.)

But there was usually only one of him.

"We have to find him," Ryan said. "Them. All of him."

Brendon imagined trying to argue three different foul-tempered Spencers back to the bus and shuddered. "We have to fix this," he said. "But we need a car. I can figure this out, guys, I promise I can, but I have to go back to the carnival.

Ryan looked at him for a long moment, glanced at Jon, nodded curtly and said, "I'll find one." He hurried away.

And that, Brendon thought, was the thing he really loved about stupid Ryan Ross. For all his cynicism, for all his jaded distrust and lacy hobo gloves, all you had to do was give him hope and he went to find a fucking car.

"We have that thing this afternoon," Brendon went on. "We need to tell somebody--"

But Jon was already nodding to himself, reaching for his phone. "Don't worry, I'm good at making up excuses," he said. "I'll take care of it."

And that, Brendon thought, was what he really loved about stupid Jon Walker. When he said _don't worry_ he always meant it, and Brendon always believed him. It was magic, special Jon Walker magic, and it always worked.

"What are you looking for?" Jon asked, glancing up from his phone.

"I need quarters," Brendon said, digging through a pile of clothes. "I need to find a whole lot of quarters." He didn't have much faith in his ability to get the coin in Zoltar's mouth on the first try.

Ryan borrowed a car, Jon invented a suitably grotesque excuse about bad Mexican food to get them out of their afternoon engagement, and Brendon found eight quarters hidden in various unlikely places around the bus. They looked for as long as they could without arousing suspicion, but there was no sign of any Spencer.

Brendon opened the car door. "You guys can stay behind and--"

Jon grabbed the keys from his hand. "Do you even know where you're going?"

"Zoltar," Ryan said. And, "Spencer can take care of himself." He frowned. "Himselves. Themselves?" Brendon couldn’t tell if Ryan was frowning because of pronoun confusion or because it was the _biggest lie ever_ , but they were a little short of time, so he didn't argue.

Jon drove because he was the only one who actually remembered where the carnival was, and it turned out to be a good thing because when they were about fifteen minutes down the road, Ryan got a text message from Pete that said: _plz keep ur drummr awy frm trick i wil killhim_.

And another, ten minutes later: _i mean it so will joe_. The lack of spelling mistakes was downright eerie; Ryan went a little pale.

Then from Andy: _hate ur band._

Brendon's phone beeped, and he was almost afraid to look. It was from Mike Carden: _smith legal y/n tell the truth_. Brendon was in the middle of typing a forceful _NO U WILL GO TO JAIL_ \--Spencer would kill him for the lie, but it might save some trouble in the long run--when he got another message, this one from Bill: _u guys hve bn holdin out naughty boysssssssdjkhfj_.

"Jon?" Brendon said in a small, strangled voice.

Jon met his eyes in the rearview mirror. "Yeah?"

"Drive faster."

The bad part about racing away to fix their Too Many Spencer Smiths problem, Brendon thought, was that there would be only one of him when they got back, so they couldn't kill him however much he deserved it.

On the other hand, the text messages alone would provide enough Spencer-mocking material to last them at least the next seventy or eighty years.

~

The carnival was gone, but Zoltar was still there.

"That," Jon declared, "is really fucking creepy. Like, I mean, _Children of the Corn_ creepy."

Brendon had to agree. The machine stood alone in the middle of an otherwise empty field, surrounded by trampled grass and tracks in the dry dirt. The plug coiled like a thin black snake over the ground, attached to nothing, and Zoltar was still and silent as Brendon approached.

"Holy shit," Ryan said. "It really is the same machine."

"I told you," said Brendon, but he couldn't even feel smug. He jingled the quarters in his pocket, took one out and balanced it on the top of the ramp. He wiped his damp palms on his jeans and inhaled slowly.

"What are you going to wish for?" Ryan asked, his voice low and strained.

Brendon looked at him, and he looked at Jon, and he looked back at Zoltar. "Trust me," he said.

"We do," Ryan replied, no hesitation.

Zoltar's eyes flared red, and Brendon heard Ryan bite back a startled gasp.

AIM RAMP TOWARD ZOLTAR'S MOUTH.

Zoltar started chomping his jaw--"Fucking _creepy_ ," Jon muttered, and he was standing so close his breath was warm on Brendon's neck--and Brendon adjusted the lever carefully.

ZOLTAR SAYS: MAKE YOUR WISH.

Brendon closed his eyes. He hadn't really thought about how to phrase it, exactly, the wish he needed to make to fix Spencer yet not negate Spencer's wish--he was pretty sure Zoltar wouldn't be down with that; a wish-granting carnival game had to have some principles--and it took him a moment to find the right words. He could feel Jon to one side, Ryan to the other, the cold space at his back where Spencer ought to be. He thought, _Yeah, okay._

When he opened his eyes, the next sign was lit: PRESS BUTTON TO RELEASE COIN.

Brendon didn't hesitate, just jammed the button and watched the coin roll straight into Zoltar's mouth. Zoltar's jaw worked for a while-- _yaw-yaw-yaw_ , it said, and Brendon was totally going to start having those awful nightmares again--and a small white card popped out of the machine. Brendon stared at it blankly until Jon reached down to retrieve it.

"Your wish is granted," Jon read softly.

Brendon took the card and blinked at the words. YOUR WISH IS GRANTED.

"Awesome." He let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"What did you wish for?" Ryan asked.

Instead of answering, Brendon shoved the card into his pocket, reached for Ryan with one hand and Jon with the other, and said, "We should get back before Bill does something to Spencer we'll all regret."

They sprinted back to the car.

~

When they returned to the bus, Spencer was waiting for them on the sofa.

Or, rather, there was a lump hiding under a blanket on the sofa, but it was vaguely Spencer-shaped and there were Spencer-esque shoes poking out from underneath, so Brendon thought it reasonable to surmise that Spencer was hiding under a blanket on the sofa.

Brendon clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud--Spencer was probably feeling a little _sensitive_ right now, and he didn't want to be mean--but it was hard when he noticed how Jon's eyes were twinkling and Ryan's mouth was quirking up in a fond smile.

Ryan stepped over, sat down beside the blanket-covered lump, and wrapped his arms around it in a tight hug. "Spencer?"

The lump nodded.

"Only one of you now?"

Another nod.

"You're kind of an idiot, you know that?"

The third nod was very vigorous.

"But that's okay," Jon said. He sat down on Spencer's other side and insinuated an arm under the blanket. "You're the good kind of idiot."

"Our favorite kind of idiot," Ryan said, kissing the top of the lump's blanketed head.

"The kind of idiot who makes all the rest of us stop being idiots too," Jon added.

"Hey." Brendon reached down and grabbed the edge of the blanket, tugged it away to reveal a blinking, blushing, mussed-up Spencer. "Don't you think I deserve some of the credit here for, oh, I don't know, _making everything better_?"

Ryan considered. "Maybe."

Jon rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "It's possible."

But Spencer, Spencer looked up at Brendon and smiled that stupid fucking smile, the one that made the sun feel bad for not being bright enough, the one that still made Brendon's insides do a funny little twist even though he'd had years to get used to it, and he said, "Yes, Brendon, you absolutely do," in the tone of voice that they all knew better than to argue with.

"I know!" Brendon exclaimed, beaming. He jerked both thumbs at himself proudly. "Big damn hero, motherfuckers." There was no room for him to squeeze in alongside them on the sofa, so he dropped himself right onto Spencer's lap, kissed Spencer's nose, draped his legs over Jon and leaned back against Ryan. The sofa definitely had room for four if they were creative. "You can all thank me later," he said imperiously, because they did have a show to play that night and _now, please_ wasn't an option. "With sexual favors involving whipped cream and handcuffs."

Ryan smacked him gently on the side of the head. "You still haven't told us what you wished for," he said.

"Yeah, c'mon," Jon said. "Tell us."

"Only if you want to," Spencer added quickly.

And that, Brendon thought, that was what he loved about stupid Spencer Smith. Spencer was definitely an idiot of the first order, but he always knew what was important.

Brendon smiled. "I wished for the same thing you wished for, dumbass."

"But there's only one of you," Ryan said. He sounded a little scared. "I mean. Right?"

Jon looked around anxiously. "Right?"

Spencer swallowed. "Brendon?"

Brendon considered being insulted for a moment, but he decided instead that it was pretty fucking cool that the very _idea_ of cloning him could send his guys into paroxysms of terror. That was an awesome kind of power to have over them.

"Of course there's only one of me," he assured them. "I wished for the same thing as Spencer, but I was a little more clear about specifying the details. It's all in the details, really. I swear, Spence, it's like you've never read a fairy tale before. You have to be _careful_ when you make fairy tale wishes, or else you might end up destroying your kingdom or turning into a bird or having sex with William Beckett."

"Um," said Jon.

"Um," said Ryan.

"Exactly," said Brendon. "As the only person in this band who has _not_ had sex with William Beckett, I am clearly the only one qualified to rescue us from pits of idiocy and despair."

His logic, he knew, was impeccable.

His logic also earned him another smack in the head, but Brendon was too happy to care about being the victim of senseless acts of violence. Ryan kind of hit like an eight-year-old girl, anyway, so it didn't even hurt.

~

So in the end, they decided to blame Jon, because it was his idea to go to the carnival in the first place.

"Okay," Jon said, yawning. "I accept full blame."

Jon was even more agreeable after sex than he was when high, and the little part of Brendon's mind that wanted to be an evil overlord when it grew up was wondering just what they could make Jon do if-- _when_ \--they got him high after sex. It would be completely awesome. They could probably work fishnet stockings into the plan and there would be no stopping them.

"I think we should take over the world," Brendon said. He yawned and stretched, which was a little bit harder than it should have been, and he accidentally hit Jon in the ear. The aspect of big gay orgies that even Pete had not been able to predict was, it turned out, that there was never enough _room_. Even in a hotel with a real bed, they all ended up with awkward and mysterious injuries such as bruised chins and teeth marks on elbows and jammed toes, and Ryan had fallen off the bed four times already.

"I think we should," Jon agreed.

"I think we should make Spencer shave," Ryan said.

"I think we should make Ryan sleep on the floor," Spencer said.

Jon laughed. "I think we should make Spencer tell us what he did that has the Butcher texting him romantic couplets every half-hour."

"No," Brendon said, "I think we should make Spencer _show us_ what he did."

"I think you should all shut up," Spencer said sleepily, "before I kill you."

"I'm scared," Jon said. "Are you scared?"

Brendon didn't get a chance to answer, though, because Jon brushed his fingers lightly over Brendon's chest, which made Brendon arch his back and purr like a cat--out loud, like he'd always wanted to, and it was totally worth it--and _that_ made Spencer laugh so hard Ryan fell off the bed again, and by the time Ryan was done bitching Brendon had forgotten what Jon had asked.

So he just said, "Yeah, okay," and went to sleep.

~


End file.
